


War Against The Odds

by norcumi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, GFY, Loss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Order 66, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pining, Rako Hardeen - Freeform, Rebellion, Rex and his Voice, Secret Relationship, Spoilers, Survivor Guilt, War, surviving the empire, unexpected shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8074438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: Obi-Wan and Rex: from General and Captain in the GAR, to lovers, to survivors and Rebels.





	1. Briefings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story comes from the 2016 [Rex/Obi Week](http://jediprompts.tumblr.com/post/141314630735/obi-wan-rex-week-23rd-27th-may-during-this), and only happened thanks to some wonderful people. 
> 
> Endless thanks to Dogmatix, who is always awesome and keeps the plunnies romping, is inspiration, motivation, and a glorious co-author. Cheers and massive appreciation to Flamethrower and MoreCivilizedAge, who kept the plot moving. Many, many thanks and much appreciation to Leechbrain, who inspired a ridiculous amount of this fic, and doesn't mind me using their art as springboards. 
> 
> **Prompt: Fleeting**

Rex knows that by the standards of most of the galaxy, he hasn’t experienced much. Or rather, he’s experienced a lot, but not widely. A lot of war, a lot of planets, and a whole hell of a lot of training and clankers.

Lately he’s found some experiences that…

That are complicated.

Tiny moments, most of them, even in his brief life.

He likes them. A lingering conversation, often about logistics and war matters. Sometimes about other things. Culture. The latest datapad novels that are running around through the ranks.

A reassuring grip on the shoulder. The bump of arms in a larty due to turbulence, that familiar click of duraplast armor as all the troops hang on to the overhead handles.

The wry tone to the Core accented voice. The way Rex can sometimes coax a laugh out to lighten the grief that always shadows the General’s eyes.

Rex has a wildly inappropriate crush on General Kenobi, and sometimes he hates it.

He knows the obstacles, can recite the regs in his sleep if he had to (and during training, he _has_ had to). Rules about fraternization. Rules about how the Jedi Order doesn’t do Attachment or close relationships. Overall rules of conduct. Rules and laws about age and experience that he can’t quite pin down where clones fit, and neither can any of the most legal minded of the brothers he’s been able to ask (vague questions, of course. Hypotheticals, hinting that he has someone under his command that needs to know. A commander in the GAR, no matter what he calls himself, _cannot_ be in a relationship with a General).

Those fleeting little moments are the best kind of hell. Joy and hope and a brightness to the world when they happen. Frustration and a taunt afterwards; the longing and unfulfilled _want_ that Rex accepts is just how things are.

The only being that has the slightest inkling is Cody. Rex shares no names or titles, but neither does his brother. Rex knows that soon into the war, Cody had developed a fascination with someone he’d seen in the halls of the Senate once. He’s always refused to say more, and Rex can hardly throw any stones, so all he does is quietly hope that it’s not Senator Amidala.

Life would be impossibly messy then.

Not that it isn’t, regardless. They fight the Seps, destroy the clankers, and hide some of their growing selves from their superiors. That’s what it means to be a clone. They have each other, and any other brothers that they’re close to.

For Rex, it’s only Cody. That’s the only brother he really trusts enough, as contrary as it is, given who the man’s CO is. Which Jedi his brother styled his name after.

The Jedi’s name that Rex wants to murmur, in those fleeting moments when he and Cody have some privacy, jerking each other off. He bites back the name, swallows his infatuation down along with the shout he wants to give when he comes, same as his brother does about his Senator-or-whatever.

That’s what it means to be a clone.


	2. Permission To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter owes pretty much everything to Leechbrain, who in fact came up with the plot and was willing to let me play with it. THANK YOU!!!!
> 
> **Prompt: Uncomfortable**

Obi-Wan had thought he had his head around the fact that despite their identical nature, the clones are all individuals.

He just hadn’t known how some of those…individual _quirks_ might be expressed.

He knows he’s in trouble, and not doing well at keeping from being Attached. He knows all his soldiers in the 212, by feel if not always name. He is comfortable with his friendship with Cody, as prickly as that might sometimes be – especially when the man’s sense of humor kicks in.

But then there’s Rex. It’s not a simple matter of aesthetics – Rex is hardly the only blond (natural or otherwise) in the thousands of clones. He’s most certainly not the only clone with some facial scarring (and should it bother Obi-Wan that he knows the faint lines along chin and cheek so well?).

It’s the man himself. The humor, the loyalty, the drive. The creativity. The way he shines in the Force.

Now it seems there is…something else, too.

“I’m not asking again, Seppie,” Rex growls, still up in the Separatist leader’s face. The human is in binders, stuck in a chair in the small interrogation room. They’re following strict protocol, Rex having volunteered for the role of “Violent Bruiser” while Obi-Wan is the “Restraining Jedi.”

Oh. Yes. That. “Captain.” It’s a good thing that Obi-Wan has had so much practice – Thank you, Council – in covering his expressions and modulating his tone, because he manages to make that gently reproving instead of strangled in…appreciation.

Yes. That’s a good word.

Rex pulls back, glowering at the Separatist who almost reeks of disdain and fear of the clone. Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt that Rex is well aware of it – he’s seen how well the clones can finely interpret body language. “Sir, if you’d just step outside for five minutes, I’m sure the Sergeant here would be more cooperative when you get back.”

It’s less of a shock the second time, but it makes him want to vent a needy little whine instead. Not that he would. He is a Jedi. Jedi are not attached. He is a General. Generals do not fuck their subordinates on an interrogation table, no matter how pornographic said subordinate might sound, nor how quickly that might encourage the Sep to share the locations of ammo depots.

No.

“No, Captain.” Obi-Wan is distantly proud of the fact that he sounds even-keeled to the point of bored. Indifferent. “That’s not how we Jedi do things.”

What he would love to do to that man –

IS not acceptable anywhere outside of _private_ fantasies, dammit!

“With all respect, _General_ , I’m no Jedi.”

Dear _Force_ the curl to his title –! Obi-Wan is more keenly aware that Rex is not part of the Order in that moment than he ever has been.

It helps, in an odd way, that Rex is precise about ‘all respect’ rather than ‘all due respect,’ which could amount to very little depending on the situation. A nice little reminder that the situation is under control.

Really.

“I am in fact aware of this.” Still sounding bored, disinterested. So distant in comparison to Rex’s intrusion on the Separatist’s personal space. Obi-Wan can almost feel Rex’s grin hidden behind the helmet.

“Then maybe I could convince you to examine that wall closely for a couple of minutes? One?” Rex sounds so hopeful, and vicious enough that the deeper tone he has compared to normal makes the hair on Obi-Wan’s neck stand up.

Among other things.

He makes a show of glancing over at the far wall Rex was motioning to. As he does, Rex makes a partial move towards the Sergeant that he abandons the instant Obi-Wan raises a hand. “Captain.” This time, there is more ice, a touch of reproof.

He can feel the Separatist break. The man pulls away from Rex, face distorting in disgust to cover fear. “Oh just get it out of here! I’ll talk, just get. it. Out!”

Rex pulls back: icy, aloof, back to professional.

Obi-Wan becomes more than a hair less so. He alters the gesture, an outstretched hand halting Rex becoming a lifting then beckoning motion. The Sep floats up into the air with a cry, breaking out into a sweat and probably close to pissing himself as he finds himself face to face with Grand High General Kenobi. Kenobi has a smile that is all pleasant nuance without a hint of teeth, all the better to contrast that the icy indifference has become active, almost dropping the temperature in the room. “This man is an officer in the Grand Army of the Republic. I can still leave you alone so that you two can discuss the lesson. Perhaps you would like to try again?”

The Sep squirms a bit, pale and sweating with fear, then gives a jerky nod. “I – I’ll talk. To you! Alone!”

Kenobi lets a brow drift up in mild disbelief, then nods to Rex. “Dismissed, Captain.”

* * *

Rex walks out of the interrogation room, nodding to the guard and crisply stalking down the corridor. It takes two turns and an odd detour to get to an uninhabited section of of hallway, but he finally has some privacy to slump against a wall and sigh.

It’s not that he hates being the bully. Well, he does, but it’s for a good cause and someone needs to be the Big Bad Threat. Better him than a Jedi, not that _that_ would be believable, and he won’t assign his men to do things he won’t volunteer to do himself. He’s not that kind of ‘leader.’

It was nice, though, having General Kenobi there instead of Skywalker. Anakin crosses the line too often into “brother” territory instead of “Jedi/General/Officer” territory, and he’s intense enough that if he were shorter and fit into armor, he could probably play Big Bad Threat.

Maybe. Rex isn’t sure.

He sighs again, letting his bucket tilt back to thunk against the wall. This crush, lust… _thing_ he has for General Kenobi is entirely out of control. He’s starting to see things, read impossibilities into his General’s body lang –

 _Fuck_. He did it again! Rex snarls a curse and shoves away from the wall to stalk down to a workout room. He needs to beat up a training dummy for awhile, if he’s slipping that badly! ‘ _His_ ’ General, indeed.

Not happening, and he knows it. Kenobi is a Jedi. Rex is a clone. These are not circles that overlap.

Though he can’t shake the wistful notion that he saw something in the General’s body language, during the interrogation. Interest. Arousal, maybe.

He shoves that stupid, probably incorrect datapoint to the back of his brain, perfectly happy to ignore it, or let it simmer in the long term into a _useful_ observation. He doesn’t expect it will, but there was definitely something going on.

For now, there’s the satisfaction in beating up a practice clanker.

* * *

It’s a nice lull, in hyperspace. The _Twilight_ is old, but reliable, and big enough that General Skywalker can be in the cockpit with Commander Tano, while Rex and General Kenobi are in the tiny sitting area. It’s a retrofit to the old spice freighter, but Skywalker is very, very good at what he does.

…with the exception of corralling his droids. C-3PO had an accident shortly after takeoff with Rex’s ammo stash, and he finally has time to have a serious talk with the protocol droid. Kenobi is seated at the tiny Dejarik/eating table, doing some basic lightsaber maintenance, while Rex is off to the side lecturing.

Ridiculous shiny droid is doing a combination of listening intently and protesting his innocence by blaming it on Artoo, which might be true but Rex wants to make sure they both hear him.

Getting R2-D2 to listen to any lecture is not worth the hazard pay involved, but the little astromech is happy to stick around to razz his friend.

“And you,” Rex growls, turning to Artoo. Some puzzle pieces slot into place in the back of his mind as he continues trying to make it clear that Artoo is responsible for Threepio, so fucking well deal with the mess already.

Kenobi is staring at him, wide-eyed for a moment before his expression smoothes over into professional Jedi serenity. Rex almost unconsciously lowers his tone as he scolds the droids, the words rolling off his tongue on autopilot (he’s been scolding misbehaving shinies for years now. He doesn’t need to think to let the right words out).

As he drops his voice into a consistent growl, he can’t help but notice that Kenobi is almost hasty in putting down the lightsaber he was clea –

Oh dear sweet Force gods. Weapons only come in so many designs, so you either admit to a stupid immaturity about maintenance and the phallic motions involved, or you get over it. Rex got over it a long time ago.

Or so he’d thought.

The problem with the _Twilight_ is that there’s no room for any privacy, so Rex has plenty of time through the mission to chew over the implications. General Kenobi was staring at him the first time he’d heard Rex speak lower than usual. He’d responded in a similar way when it happened again, and Rex’s experiment by continuing the tone led to the General looking like he was working hard to hide how uncomfortable he was.

General Kenobi had also needed to stop cleaning his lightsaber.

…this is some interesting math.

* * *

It’s good to be back in friendly territory, without a mission or battlefield consuming Obi-Wan’s attention. He’s in the small quarters allocated to him on-planet, and the base is mostly quiet – not a surprise, given how late they got back in. He’s tired, but too wound up to fall asleep yet, which means some meditation time.

The quiet door chime catches him before he can sit, which is both annoying yet convenient. He sighs and goes over to open the door.

Captain Rex is outside, helmet off and a strange look in his eyes.

“Captain?”

“General,” Rex declares in that sinful growl that Obi-Wan had decided was pure trouble (hearing Rex scold droids should not, no matter what, be sexy – nevermind arousing enough that Obi-Wan had had to take a few extra minutes in the ‘fresher afterwards to…deal with things). “I believe we’re both off-duty right now, and I was hoping we could… _talk._ ”

Force. Oh, _Force_ , this time he can tell it’s no accident. It’s deliberate, Rex sounding like he’s ready to talk Obi-Wan right into orgasm, one slow stroke and murmur at a time.

Wait. Fuck. What? “Excuse me?” Obi-Wan manages, voice a little faint even as he is incredibly grateful for the length of his tunics.

There’s a hint of uncertainty in Rex’s eyes, along with the sensation in the Force of a frisson of concern like the Captain doesn’t know if he’s erred, but that bravery and integrity shine past it. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” Rex murmurs, with that wry, crooked smile that has always done things to Obi-Wan.

Gods, he can be a fool, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure if this time, he is a fool for wanting and going for his desire, or a fool for being in denial so long. He steps aside, giving Rex a sweeping gesture to enter. “Always, Rex,” he declares, making a clear message of the lack of titles. He can feel that concern and uncertainty in Rex evaporate, replaced by affection and arousal.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” Rex purrs back as he steps inside. Obi-Wan lets the door close, and this time he lets out a bit of a needy noise at Rex’s words. Rex silences it with a kiss, tentative enough to let Obi-Wan change the pace or alter the path entirely should he wish.

Since he wishes to deepen it instead, Obi-Wan leans in closer, opening his mouth to let Rex in.

The only good thing about ending the kiss is that it allows Rex to start speaking again, but oh, that makes up for so very, very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leechbrain also [did art for this](http://leechbrain.tumblr.com/post/144871571294/rexobi-week-day-2-uncomfortable-so-this-is)!!! EEEEEEE!!!!!


	3. Unsure Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References are made to [Message In A Bottle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7961023), though that's not required reading. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt: Coping**

Rex doesn’t know if he should feel guilty. He does, in some ways. It’s one thing, to sideways ignore regs that don’t quite apply about fraternization. It’s another to ignore brothers doing the right thing through perhaps illicit means (and all of Umbara can go fuck itself on the bright end of a lightsaber).

It’s a whole new world of fuckery to go undercover as a shiny to most likely kill his secret Jedi lover’s murderer.

Rex has no idea what to call it when the situation becomes finding out his secret Jedi lover is undercover as his own murderer (including the stunned relief leading to a handjob and demanding that Obi-Wan had to come back from that shitty, pointless farce of a mission in order to return the favor).

Or the fact that Obi-Wan –

That they had –

Rex is pretty sure Jedi aren’t supposed to declare they love someone. Love, in a sense that isn’t universal and undirected. Rex knows he sure as hell isn’t supposed to, though that’s not anywhere in the regs. It just…is. Clones were made for the war. Not something bigger, wider, like their own lives or what comes afterwards, aside from years of mop-up and probably policing the former Seps.

Cody keeps him company, as much as he can. Neither the 501 nor the 212 are on active duty, but as heads of their respective companies, Cody and Rex are never entirely off duty.

They keep the horrible secret, while they both have to counsel some of their brothers over the loss of General Kenobi. They sometimes just sit together, or curl up in a lonely little cuddle pile of two.

A command position had always been difficult, but never quite so much as when all you want is the simple comfort of a pile of brothers that are just _there_ , draped every which way so that every breath or movement is a reminder that you are not alone.

Obi-Wan’s message is just as difficult. Cody was there, when Rex opened it – not knowing what it was. He’d been just as mystified as to why their General would send that along, though he hadn’t said the obvious (Cody’s known for months, without Rex saying a word, and that hurts too. Every now and then, Rex will catch his brother _watching_ him, with that soft, almost sad look that isn’t jealousy, but does have envy dancing around the edges of faint happiness for Rex and Obi-Wan both).

When Rex left Cody’s quarters to find some shiny armor for a disguise and vengeance, Cody had been sitting and holding the braid like it had answers to death itself plaited within.

When Cody had learned what its message was, he only seemed to hold it with even more reverence.

Cody might not be _in_ love with Kenobi, the way Rex is, but there’s no doubt in Rex’s mind that his brother and Obi-Wan love each other. There is a fierce mutual respect, a trust that can only develop under blasterfire, and a friendship that is quiet, wry, and sassy as fuck. Rex knows neither man would give that up, for all that this fiasco has dealt that friendship a serious blow. He can only imagine the _yelling_ Cody is going to unleash when he’s confirmed that General Kenobi is fine and they are behind closed doors. He imagines he’s going to hear plenty about it, from both of them.

He refuses to seriously consider Obi-Wan not coming back. It might not be reasonable, it might not be likely, but he cannot approach it otherwise.

He and Cody have each other. The warmth of a brother at your back, the ability to hold on to a stupid plait of hair and remember there is more than duty, more than the strict limits of what the Kaminoans made them for.

Rex knows all Obi-Wan has is some promises, and the memories of stolen time and hidden gestures.

If that’s enough to keep his General going, then surely this is enough to sustain Rex until Obi-Wan comes home.


	4. Active Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This FINALLY provided me an opportunity to play with Leechbrain‘s [lovely, lovely art](http://leechbrain.tumblr.com/post/140364090624/this-isnt-even-remotely-finished-i-need-to-fix). So thank you AGAIN for inspiring things!
> 
> **Prompt: Exhaustion**

Obi-Wan isn’t sure which bothers him more: he’s almost numb with exhaustion (most definitely exhaustion, not emotional whiplash and shock and the soul-burning sensation of Anakin’s feel of betrayal, not to mention – no. No, it is just exhaustion) or that he can’t recall the last time he didn’t feel some kind of tired like this.

He goes still as the doorchime sounds, then makes himself relax out of the tense at-ready posture he automatically assumed. There is concern humming on the other side of the door, love and a touch of irritation and frustration almost drowned out by worry. Obi-Wan gestures towards the door, shoving the release with the Force as he obeys Healer’s orders and slumps back on his sofa.

Rex ducks into the room, enveloped in one of Obi-Wan’s older cloaks. It’s a subterfuge they’ve used a few times to slip Rex into the Temple without having far more awkward conversations or gossip than either of them want, and Obi-Wan always refuses to pry about the emotions coming from Rex during those times. There is a… _contentment_ to the man when wearing the cloak that Obi-Wan can only grasp on an intellectual level, that it is a stand in for him.

Obi-Wan tries very, very hard to never let his emotions get the better of him, to be smug and revel in the fact that Rex savors the rare, ridiculous opportunities.

He is not a very good Jedi.

Rex swings the cloak off and then onto one of the hooks by the door before turning to face Obi-Wan. He stops and pulls back a little, brows raised in bemused surprise to see Obi-Wan is still seated, then they go higher still as he registers Obi-Wan’s appearance.

Obi-Wan crosses his arms and gives his Captain a sarcastic look in return. After a moment, Rex shrugs. “That grew back quickly.”

Dammit, he misses his beard. The faint blush would have been better obscured by his beard than the bacta patches he’s wearing instead. “There _are_ aids for that sort of thing.”

Rex does a little head bobble, coming over slowly to sit on the couch. He’s only in his blacks, which means he either came over soon as his sleep shift was done – likely – and or he hurried like hell and didn’t want to take the extra minute and change to put on his armor – more likely, since Force knows the man loathes going without. Given the stubble Rex has also got, quite possibly both.

“It’s also Healer’s revenge,” Obi-Wan admits, as Rex tentatively reaches out, fingers sliding along a clean-shaven jaw, over a bacta patch and up into Obi-Wan’s hair. “Extra time on the face wounds – no, I won’t be given extra bacta – and no hair growth products until I’m fully well. And knowing all the healers and medics I’m likely to be around when that happens, even after.”

“All natural beard development, hm?” Rex teases with a flicker of a still-worried grin. Then he locks eyes, and _smiles_. “Didn’t know you were a baby-faced General under all that.”

Obi-Wan can feel the forgiveness wash over him, ocean-strong, and he almost sags with relief. The teasing is his savior, because that is the perfect means of retaliation. “Are you going to complain, or do I get to return the favor from the last time we – ”

Rex cuts him off with a long, deep kiss, and it’s all he can do to keep coherent when surrounded by the emotions of care, forgiveness, love.

* * *

Rex can barely keep his eyes open, and he’s torn. On the one hand he wants nothing more than to curl up around Obi-Wan and fall asleep. On the other, he’s not ready to let Obi-Wan out of his sight yet, even if it’s just to close his eyes long enough to nod off.

Somewhere between rounds 1 and 2 of welcome home sex, they’d made it back to the bedroom. Clothes had been left back in the living area, and yet again Obi-Wan wasn’t even 10 minutes asleep and he’s kicked the blanket half off. Rex tugs it back up, wrapping around his Jedi and nestling close to hair both too short and too copper for normal – attractive, but surreal as hell. With his face half smushed into the pillow that would migrate into a clutch toy by morning, were Rex not around, he looks damn young. The beard adds a lot of years, and sleep removes a good deal of gravitas.

Rex lets out a soft little sigh, somewhere between letting out long-standing stress and letting in so much relief. Risking their lives in this damn war is one thing. This Hardeen shit is an entire other mess.

He curls up closer, spooning up with Obi-Wan who immediately latches on to him (starting the blanket on its next journey southwards), and Rex can’t stop a helpless little smile.

Fuck Hardeen, fuck the Chancellor, and fuck the Seps. They have this moment, together. With that, with _each other,_ they can tackle anything.


	5. Running Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS for: Order 66, spoilers for Rebels season 2.**
> 
> **Prompt: Reminder**

The world ends while Rex is stuck in a bacta tank. He wakes up still in pain, blasters going off nearby. Two brothers, one hauling him out of the tank, the other providing cover fire.

He has to still be hallucinating, because they look like they’re firing at brothers.

It’s Wolffe hauling him out, and Rex takes a spare blaster and provides coverfire. He doesn’t recognize the armor of the other brother, but it’s heavier make, and the hashmarks covering the bucket are extensive. Commando class.

They’re on a shuttle and fleeing from Kamino before he can get an explanation.

Head injuries, all three of them.

Defective chips.

Order 66.

* * *

They run, and they run, and they run.

They hide.

They take their commandeered shuttle and just float around near the Rim for awhile, tracking shit on the holonet and being hammered in their souls again and again.

Everything they see is a perversion.

* * *

They’re an odd group, three clones that sometimes grate on each other’s nerves as brothers from very different batches.

Wolffe, who’s never again what he was during the war, never whole again. Rex watches the man crumple, for all that everything but his bio eye is stoic and unmoved as they get a live feed of General Koon’s starfighter blowing up and raining down over Cato Neimoidia. Rex knows he’s watching a man who just had something vital ripped out of his chest and crushed in front of his face, and Rex never begrudges how much his brother is broken by it.

Gregor, who spends so much time staring at the proj with a baffled expression, open with his brokeneness. The man survived so much, lost his memory, only to come back to something that is just as much a figment of the imagination, now. Lost in the fickle lies of memory.

Memory, of a good time. At the very least, a better time.

And Rex himself. The knowledge that _his_ troops marched on the Temple, that it was _his_ men and brothers and soldiers that were slaughtering the youngest and oldest Jedi in their _home_ –

He’s not sure how broken he is, but he at least is familiar with the notion of mutiny. On Umbara, fury and righteous indignation fueled his hunt for his former general.

He has no rage left. He is tired, beyond tired, and he cannot begin to even think of revenge yet. He is homeless, having no family beyond Wolffe and Gregor.

Neither Skywalker nor Kenobi are on the very, very lengthy lists of the dead, and no one knows what to make of that.

* * *

Rex settles into a comfortable kneeling position in the cargo area. It’s about the only place for actual privacy they have, since the bunks are in a shared room. Gregor has no idea where they should go, falling back on his fractured memory as a reason to bow out of making the horrible, looming decision of where they should go. Wolffe just turns sullen and grunts what are probably negative responses.

Rex wants to see sky above instead of space everywhere around him, actual land of some sort. Natural air you can taste. _Plants_.

On their retreat to the shuttle, they’d passed the equipment lockers for the soldiers in the bacta tanks. They’d managed to snag some of Rex’s armor, even if it wasn’t the full set.

The important thing was the bucket, and the right vambrace. The former any brother would’ve made a serious effort to keep; it’s his _face_.

There’s a small slot in the right vambrace for storage, for small things. A datachip or three. Holos. Good luck trinkets.

He’s damned grateful, and more than a little surprised that his hands don’t shake as he pulls out a small braid of bright copper hair.

Rex has to take a few deep breaths anyways, before closing his eyes and trying to meditate. It’s not that hard a skill, and Obi-Wan enjoyed company when he as a Jedi had to do that. Rex never brought out the braid when around Obi-Wan, even though during the wait for the Hardeen op to be over he’d developed a habit. He uses it as a meditation aid, sliding it between his fingers. Always careful of the soft-slick strands, to keep them from fraying out of the plait, letting himself sink into memory and sensation and letting his mind flow into the Force – or whatever it is non-Jedi do when they meditate. Obi-Wan always said it was the same, but Rex could never quite believe that.

He is just a clone.

He had dreams in the bacta – everyone does. This last round, as the universe came down in flames, he dreamed of the desert. Sands as far as the eye can see. Burning, harsh yellow under cruel, brutal blue. Heat that sucks the water from everything, licking the body clear of vitality.

Those dreams return to him in the cargo bay. He thinks he can feel the flickers of heat along his body, which makes the cold a moment later worse.

Rex has little faith in gods, or political systems, or even authority.

He is a clone, not a Jedi, but he trusts the Force.

* * *

They look over their star charts, and settle on the most reasonable goal, never discussing how they only have enough fuel to make one trip. Wherever they go – wherever Rex sends them – they’re not coming back on this shuttle.

He has a good feeling about Seelos.

* * *

When the lanky man with a smuggler’s cut to his hair and gear brandishes a lightsaber, something almost leaps from Rex’s stomach (heart?) and out his mouth. That “snap-hiss” of the weapon, the _blue_ that is like nothing else (nothing but sometimes the hidden light in those eyes, once upon a time) –

Rex had feared it was gone from the galaxy entirely.

He is terrified. Overjoyed.

He knows, in that moment as Wolffe overreacts and the child jumps into the fray ( _gods_ a padawan he’s forgotten what hope feels like). Rex knows his universe has turned on its head again. He – _they_ – came to Seelos for a reason.

It stands in front of him, bearing lightsabers.

* * *

When Kanan finally treats Rex with something other than that kicked dog wariness, it is a relief. Rex is cautious, but continues to try to make allies, friends if possible.  It helps that Ahsoka vouches for him (she is another gift from the Force, a piece of his history slotting into place to make the present bearable, something to fight for).

It is a bad evening for Kanan, who is drinking to forget – or maybe honor the memory of – something he refuses to talk about. Zeb and Sabine knew enough to be absent from the _Ghost_ , and Hera is lost in the guts of the ship repairing things with Chopper.

Rex is the idiot lugging Kanan back to the man’s quarters, dropping the man onto his bunk. Kanan is just drunk enough to not be able to walk, but more than drunk enough to be melancholy and have a loose tongue. He looks up at Rex and sighs.  “Y’ever miss th’war?”

“No,” Rex lies with a scoff.

Kanan nods, his hand drifting out to caress a metal cube on the stand next to the bed. Rex stills as he recognizes a Jedi holocron. Something in his blood hums, and he wonders at the sensation of familiarity, something between want and need he doesn’t understand.

Kanan sees the look, but thankfully he’s too drunk to wonder at the emotions Rex himself doesn’t understand. “Y’rec’gnize this.”

“Jedi use it to store data.”

The man grunts, melancholy washing across his face. He waves his hand, and the holochron rotates, separating into pieces. Light emits from the top, and Rex is knocked silent.

It’s the best and worst kind of gutpunch. A holo of Obi-Wan is projected in front of him, robed and weary. There’s more gray to the beard and hair than Rex recalls last seeing on the man, but it looks like it was recorded near the end of the war. When he speaks, the breath rushes back into Rex with a tiny sound like a sob. That voice. That man.

It’s been long years, and Rex has never felt lonelier than when he hears his Jedi speak for the first time in that horrible exile. It is a message trying so hard for hope. Benediction and warning all at once. It is so very much a speech of Obi-Wan’s.

Rex is openly crying when the holocron flickers out, rotating back to the sealed cube. Jarrus is watching him, sitting up and looking sober which probably means matters were odd enough to make the Jedi sober himself up.

Kanan at least has the kindness to let Rex compose himself, swipe his eyes clear before speaking. “What was that about?”

He doesn’t owe this man any answers, and Rex isn’t sure he even knows how to say what Obi-Wan was to him without it taking days, months. “Would – Would I be able to get a copy of that?” His voice is hoarse, and he sounds like he’s moments away from another breakdown, and _Rex does not care_. There’s something inside that roars at the gaping hole where his Jedi used to be. It’s been silent, licking wounds for years now, and whatever this grief is, it will not be quiet any longer.

Kanan eyes him for another moment, then nods once slowly. For all that he was drunk off his feet minutes before, he’s steady as he grabs a battered ‘chip used many times to transport data. A gesture, and the holocron reopens. After Kanan inserts the datachip, a few more gestures, he leans back, watching the floating artifact. When he speaks, the Jedi never once looks at Rex. “Your Hera, huh?”

The wounded roaring inside _howls_ , and Rex has to appreciate the layers to the question. It is an acknowledgement of the situation – Rex and Obi-Wan. It is acceptance, even a comparison – Kanan is in a position similar to Obi-Wan’s. It is a challenge, demanding some kind of response.

“Yeah,” Rex manages as Kanan passes the chip to him. The Jedi hesitates, then nods, sympathy and grief passing over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding like he genuinely sympathizes. “I have no idea if he survived long after the purge started.”

Rex nods, movement jerky as he turns and tries to fight off more weeping. “I didn’t know even that much.” He makes it into the hall, but before the door closes, he manages to a quiet “Thank you.”

* * *

The _Ghost_ has a little cargo bay currently half full. Rex retreats there, glad that Ezra doesn’t seem to be in residence there. He hides in a back corner, twisting around pallets of supplies and clambering over several boxes of food containers. In the small holdout corner he set up for himself in the first week aboard the _Ghost_ , he has backup blasters, an ammo stash, and other emergency supplies. A half empty can of spray paint is tossed absently in the corner, which is a nice way of Sabine to let him know she found his bolt hole and gives her clandestine blessing. He finds the Mando skull in her signature neon on the floor, which cements the message.

Funny, how much that makes him relax as he slumps down against the pile of supply crates. He pulls a small projector close, and slides his precious new chip in. As Obi-Wan flickers into being again, Rex manages a watery smile.

He’s there all night, sliding a braid between his fingers, drinking in voice and features he’d feared lost to memory, like thirsty sands soaking up an unprecedented, impossible storm.


	6. Burning Like a Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MoreCivilizedAge is the guilty party responsible for hooking me up with the [music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ncIVUXZla8) that inspired this chapter's title and some themes. Blame them.

Ben watches the shuttle coming in for a landing near his farm, and he has to wonder at the feel of the Force. There is no threat, though there is the prickle of portent. Something is coming, but probably not the Empire.

Probably not Anakin, either, though gods know if he doesn’t stop by between missions soon Luke will have every right to demand to go along on the next one. It wouldn’t be the boy’s first, either, but that’s how the twins are.

There are days when Luke is at his most rebellious, the most like his father, that Ben thanks all the stars that he is foster uncle to Luke, not Leia. He has no idea how Bail does it, aside from persistent help from Padmé.  

Not that it would be any kind of a picnic to deal with both Padmé Amidala _and_ Leia Organa.

No, he’ll happily stick with Luke’s sulks, Owen’s glares, and the far too rare arguments with Anakin.

He would gladly take more arguments, if it meant Anakin were around more often.

Shuttle doesn’t look like the right style for anything Anakin would fly, and on this part of Tatooine, Anakin rarely holds back on flying how he damn well pleases, which can be…distinct.

Luke shows up on that monstrosity of a speeder he and Anakin have souped up over the last few years into a true beast that Obi-Wan sometimes suspects is developing sentience. “Something’s coming,” the boy calls out, hopping off as the speeder glides to a halt without a passenger to keep the engine going. It ends up perfectly in place, tucked up against the wall of Ben’s house as close as if it were carefully placed there, and Ben can’t detect if the Force was used as a final assist. “What _is_ it, Uncle Ben?”

“Change,” slips out of his mouth before he is quite aware of it, and they share a glance. The Force is practically shimmering with potential. Luke edges closer to him, awkward as teenagers are, but still seeking the reassurance of an arm around his shoulders.

“Not sure I like it,” he mutters, and Ben gives him a one-armed hug with a gentle laugh.

* * *

Rex has had quite enough sand in his life to last him at least several lifetimes more. He’s not entirely sure he trusts Rebel command sending them to the ass end of the galaxy, and it doesn’t help that most of his memories of Tatooine are bad. Tatooine means Jabba, Jabba means the huttling, the huttling always reminds Rex of being stranded a meter off the ground, Ventress demanding answers from him as his dead brothers are scattered around.

Then, of course, had come the Mind Trick.

‘ _Anakin_ ,’ his mind whispers to him, reminding him of how a simple slip into familiarity had been enough to alert the General that Rex and his brothers had failed.

He shakes off those memories, wondering what’s going down. He doesn’t like the team being split up the way they are. Fulcrum and Hera were sent off to rendezvous with Wolffe and some operative by the name “Wizard.” None of them know who that is, though Hera’s heard about his flying and had been gushing enthusiastically enough that Kanan’s been in a snit ever since. He doesn’t do jealous very often, but when he does it’s impressive.

It just makes Rex feel old.

He, Kanan, and Ezra bring their speeders to a halt outside the hut they were told to meet their unnamed contact at. There’s a kid outside working on a speeder – blond, wide-eyed, about Bridger’s age. Could be their contact, but something about him sends ice dancing down Rex’s spine. He’s not sure what, but there’s something strange going on that he doesn’t understand. His nerves have been a little shot for hours, but this…this is uncanny.

“Hi,” the kid declares, neutral and wary. He’s behind a monster of a speeder, customized to the point where it could maybe pass as a droid – and it’s more than solid enough to hide any weapons he might have.

Ezra nudges his speeder to the front, shoving his goggles up onto the headwrap he’s got on. Gives the kid that open ‘you can trust me I couldn’t hurt a fly’ grin. “We’re a little lost – where’s Mos Espa, as the jawa flies?”

The kid wrinkles his nose as he gives them a skeptical look, and Rex bites back a sigh. Plus: call and response codes are still useful. Minus: their coordinates are off, and Force only knows how many abandoned or near abandoned homesteads there are around Tatooine.

“If the jawa’s flying, you’ve bigger concerns than Mos Espa,” a voice calls out from the hut, and Rex freezes. He’s got the same goggles and headwrap the other two do, and for a covert op like this he’s taken Wren up on her offer of unmarked armor-lined civilian clothes, but –

He has to be imagining things.

Jarrus doesn’t react – though he gives Rex a quick, funny glance – other than to hold his hands away from his blaster as a robed humanoid emerges from the darkened doorway. “Better jawas than starfighters.”

The robed man relaxes, though he has no visible weapon. “This day just gets more and more interesting,” he murmurs, pausing to fold his arms together so the enveloping sleeves could hide any number of fun surprises. “What brings you here?”

Rex can’t breathe.

He knows that voice.

The odds are impossible, and yet gods, he’s here.

“Obi-Wan.”

It’s a quiet, shaky whisper, broken almost past understanding, but of course he hears Rex. As the hooded figure does a sharp turn to look at him, the hood falls back, and gods, time has not been kind.

Obi-Wan seems old, lines deep on his face and only accented by the harsh suns and the sands. He looks sorrowful, like he’s been grieving for years, for all that there is a familiar suspicion and battle readiness in his eyes, which have gone from blue-green to gray.

“What?” Kanan asks, turning to look at Rex and get a hand closer to his blaster. He probably didn’t hear anything but Rex’s voice, but he cannot care about that. Rex slides off his speeder, almost not able to keep his feet and it’s been years since shock could steal that steadiness from him.

He’d thought he’d had all the shocks the universe could give by now.

Trust General Kenobi to prove him wrong.

“Who are you?” Obi-Wan demands, voice sharp and commanding as he moves in front of the boy. Padawan? Wouldn’t surprise Rex.

“We gave the right pass codes,” Ezra declares, hands up and trying to settle the suddenly charged atmosphere. “Thought it was obvious.”

Rex can’t even answer, still feels like he can’t catch his breath as he reaches up and fumbles off the goggles, shoving the head-wrap to the ground. The fabric doesn’t even hit the sand ( _sands and heat – his dreams, fucking Force gods he had dreamt of this, and he’d picked the wrong fucking desert to hide in!_ ) before Obi-Wan has an ignited lightsaber in one hand and a blaster in the other. The blaster is aimed at Rex, the lightsaber ready for the others. =Name or number!= the General barks in Mando’a, leaving Bridger and Jarrus exchanging a worried look.

“Sir,” he manages in a hoarse whisper before his throat closes up again. He can see a suspicious squint, as if Obi-Wan can’t quite determine identity from voice alone.

He cannot say more, cannot risk – gods, he doesn’t even know how to _think_ about this. Instead Rex tugs his left glove down, showing a thin bracelet he keeps underneath it and his vambrace.

Copper hair sits atop a small band of leather, preserved under a thin layer of plas. Obi-Wan stares for a blank moment, then his eyes snap up to meet Rex’s.

He can feel Obi-Wan reach out in the Force, touching his mind beyond shields Rex never set up against him – not _HIS_ Jedi. Rex can’t stop, doesn’t _want_ to stop tears of a sort he never expected to shed.

Damnfool Jedi drops his weapons, taking three wide strides forward to wrap around Rex in a bruising hug. He’s muttering, Rex’s name and astonished endearments in gods know how many languages, and as Rex returns it both are crying like fools.

Wrong desert, wrong planet, yet somehow he’s found his way home.


	7. Regroup

Ben can’t quite believe this is real. He’s sitting in his home – more spacious inside than it looks, underground to take advantage of natural insulation, and furnished with a bit more than minimalist necessities, at Beru and Luke’s insistence (and Leia, and Padmé, the three occasions they had to visit – they _made_ to visit).

Rex is here. _Alive_.

They sit together, gripping hands and probably both with shell-shocked expressions. Ben wants to _hold_ him, break down into tears and just demand answers, find out what happened, how he’s alive and is he well and –

And he still needs to deal with Rex’s companions. The boy – a padawan – stays outside with Luke, making friends and probably looking to get into trouble because Luke may be sweet, but he _is_ a Skywalker.

Caleb Dume is a tougher person to deal with. It’s clear he’s tried to shed his past as a Jedi, even as he blatantly clings to it at the same time. Obi-Wan understands that dichotomy well, though he finds it frustrating to deal with.

For all that, however, he’s at a bit of a loss. “Yes, I’m involved with the Rebellion. But no one contacted me or Luke to meet with you.”

Kanan, as he prefers to be called, frowns and shakes his head. “Trap? Set-up?” He scowls. “Our team got divided. Do you know an operative named ‘Wizard,’ and how reliable he might be?”

Oh. Oh _dear_. Ben smiles, though he tries so hard to sit on the desire to _hope_. “Anakin is very reliable,” he drawls, reveling in Rex’s startled breath in, the squeeze of his hand along with a burst of relief and _joy_.

Kanan stares at him for a long moment, then his jaw drops. “Anakin… _Skywalker_? He’s _alive_?”

Ben’s smile dims. Mustafar still haunts him, for all that his family tries to get him to stop. “Yes.” He tries to make it sound normal, blasé, but he can tell Rex knows something is wrong.

‘Wrong.’ Such an understatement.

“Who were you supposed to meet?”

Kanan eyes him for a suspicious moment, and it seems to matter a great deal to him that Rex stays silent. Given the Order’s past with the clones, that is no surprise. “Besk’marev, or Cestus, though I don’t know if that’s two names for the same agent or two individuals.”

Damn. Ben shakes his head. “I’ve heard the names, and they’ve a good reputation such as these things exist, but we’ve never met.”

Rex is frowning. “We were sent here, while – Either someone knows who we are, and knows thoroughly about Fulcrum and Wizard – ” He stops and shakes his head. “No. Anyone getting those two in the same room is an idiot, unless Wizard turns.” He gives Obi-Wan a long, measured look, worry deep in his eyes but a professional mask covering all else. “Are you sure about him? I – I heard rumors about the Temple….”

Finding serenity in the Force used to be much easier. Ben is fairly sure he manages to fake it. “I’m certain, Rex. If he turned, I would know.” Qui-Gon had promised. Anakin, for that matter, had been _part_ of making Qui-Gon promise, and the horrible tragedy of the Temple is exactly why Ben is certain Anakin will not fall again.

Kanan grumps his way through several more protests for form’s sake, but he finally excuses himself under the guise of checking on the padawans. Ben gives it a count of three after the door closes to turn and _cling_ to Rex.

* * *

Worries and theories chase each other around Rex’s mind, but it’s easy to set them aside for a time. Holding Obi-Wan is strange, in a wonderful way. The fifteen years have made the man lean, worn away muscle even as it’s finally given him time to recover from the unhealthy, resource-starved trimness he’d had back in the war. His hair is almost entirely gray by now, which Rex doesn’t think is standard, but –

Given their lives, Rex isn’t surprised.

He waits, happy and willing to soak in the evidence of Obi-Wan and relearn the details of him. The shape, how they fit together, the smell and feel of Obi-Wan clinging tight enough that he’s trembling.

Obi-Wan is the one to break the hold, looking up and asking in a choked, quite voice, “What the hell happened?”

It’s easier to say when he’s looking at Obi-Wan, the new grief lines along the face in the midst of an impossibly dark tan. It means Rex doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to remember – just report.

Obi-Wan only interrupts for a quiet question, a faintly suspicious tilt to the head. “You mentioned this Fulcrum before. How did they know how to find you, and why would it be foolish to put them and Anakin into the same room?”

Rex can’t stop a smile, and doesn’t even try. “Ahsoka,” he declares. Obi-Wan stares for a long moment, then he leans back with a deep inhale.

“Gods. She’s alive?!”

“And doing well. She’s become quite the Jedi, for all that she refuses to be called one.”

Obi-Wan grabs him again, crying even as he clings tight again. It morphs into a wet set of giggles, until Obi-Wan shakes his head against Rex’s shoulder. “That would explain why Anakin was in such a mood a few weeks ago. He’s planning something.”

Fuck. Right. That. Reality presses back down on Rex, leaving him feeling old and so damn tired again. “About that.” From Obi-Wan’s expression as he pulls back, he can hear Rex’s tone and knows that it’s not good.

He has to brace himself with a few deep breaths. Gregor, for all his limitations and mental quirks, is a damn fine slicer. “I saw footage from the Temple security feeds. From – ” His voice gives out, and Rex can’t make himself say the words. From Obi-Wan’s pained slump, they’re not necessary. He knows. “I saw Skywalker. I know why – ” His voice catches again, but this time he pushes on. The 501st had been his responsibility. He hadn’t been there. There was every legitimate reason in the universe for his failure, but that did not make it any easier. Any more right. “I know why the men were there, what happened to them. But I’ve never been able to figure out what hold the Emperor had on him.”

“Sith techniques,” a new voice answers his question, which has Rex whirling to his feet and blasters aimed before he quite registers that the deep voice doesn’t sound _normal_.

The transparent blue Jedi completely ignores the weapons pointed at him. “Palpatine is a Sith Lord – _the_ Sith lord behind the war, the fall of the Republic, and the end of the Jedi Order as we know it.” The man makes a faint face. “Not that what we knew was such a grand thing.”

“Qui.” Obi-Wan’s voice is quiet, a little irked, and utterly unsurprised. The – the ghost Jedi? – acknowledges straying from the point with a nod, regaining his aplomb with a swiftness that makes Rex’s heart ache for the old days. Nothing like Jedi for that kind of emotional composure.

The ghost Jedi studies Rex for a moment, then sighs. He’s got a face that could be stern, but seems somewhere between gentle and sorrowful. ‘Qui,’ Obi-Wan had said.

It’s funny, how much Jinn looks like his holo.

“I don’t know the full details of the technique, but I saw it work more than once. A great deal of stress, mental and emotional, placed upon an individual. Use of the Force that….” The ghost shudders, and it’s like a whisper of ice slithers down Rex’s back. “That is horrific. I could feel everything in the room distort when he broke Anakin. Bent him to Sidious’ will even more thoroughly than those chips did to your brothers.”

Rex tries not to stagger at the words, but it’s hard. Obi-Wan’s hands clench into fists, and when the motion draws Rex’s attention, his Jedi straightens. Looks exhausted by years of pain, even as he picks up the thread. “Yoda and I also found the security tapes. I convinced Padmé to let me go with her to meet up with Anakin.”

“He didn’t take that well,” Rex guesses, earning a terse nod from Obi-Wan.

“Flew into a rage. Accused us of having an affair behind his back, dismissed her child as not his.”

Rex’s jaw drops as several odd clothing choices he’d noticed the Senator make finally click into place, years too late. “How did you fix someone that broken?” he whispers, sick to his stomach and not quite sure he wants to know.

Jinn sighs. “Melodrama. Driving the point home. Reopening old scars and then taking unfair advantage of them.”

From Obi-Wan’s look, it wasn’t nearly as cleancut as it sounds. “To be fair,” Obi-Wan declares, tone dangerously mild, “having your grand-master appear, toss his cloak down while stepping between you and your injured family before he accuses you of not just the horrible things you’ve done when mad but also when otherwise hurting _is_ rather harsh.”

Jinn’s shrug is beautifully insouciant. Must be where Obi-Wan learned it.

* * *

It’s like something out of a dream, sitting with Rex and talking with Qui-Gon. There are Force sensitive presences sitting outside, wary but content. Gods, Ben hopes this is real.

Qui-Gon is the one to detect strangers incoming. By the time two more speeders pull up to the house, everyone – minus Qui-Gon, of course – is outside and ready. The speeders come to a halt, the riders slipping down and cautiously approaching. The woman takes the lead, removing her head protection, and Ben has to bite back a noise of astonishment as she smiles and bows to him.

“Good afternoon, Master Kenobi. It’s good to see you again,” Sabé of Naboo declares, while her companion is still, staring at Ben with laser focus and durasteel tight mental shields.

Well. Gods. He’d had no idea. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her smile is a bit slyer, though he’s not sure what expression is lurking in her eyes. “Magical coincidences are everywhere.”

“Much like sand,” he drawls, internally snickering because Anakin’s loathing has become a running joke in their cell’s pass phrases. He can see Luke rolling his eyes even as the boy relaxes.

“That’s rough,” she says, shaking her head, though she doesn’t relax. “It _is_ good to see you, though.” He steps forward to hug her, and it is not his imagination that she slumps a hair against him. “I was very worried you were dead,” she whispers, and his chuckle is a touch watery.

“Your cousin officially adopted me, and you know how difficult the Naberries are to stop.”

“True.” Sabé’s smile is back in place as she pulls back to give the others a regal nod. “Besk’marev, though when it’s safe I prefer Sabé.” She motions to the man, who hasn’t once looked away from Ben. “My husband and partner, Cestus.” Ben can practically see the man shake his head a little before he gives a stiff nod.

Ben can feel something odd from Rex, who steps forward. =Brother,= he declares in Mando’a; part greeting, part challenge. =How long have you been de-chipped?=

The man goes still as Rex crosses his arms. Ben doesn’t think it’s his imagination that Cestus is staring at Rex’s wrist – Force. The pose revealed the bracelet Rex wore – an affection Ben still can’t wrap his mind around – and it holds Cestus’ attention.

Cestus gives an awkward, soft laugh that holds enough bitterness to make Sabé eye him. “Not nearly long enough.” It’s a clone’s voice, rough even though he speaks softly. “Though I’m glad to see you’re here, Rex.”

Something clues Rex in a moment before Cestus removes his headwrap, and Ben sucks in an astonished breath. Cody’s gone entirely steel-gray, with far more lines around the eyes than any other clone he has met in the years since the war. Cody’s got a new, long scar on the other side of his face that goes up into his hair, and after a quick nod to Rex he’s only looking at Ben.

Rex and Ben reach him at the same time. Ben’s not sure what clues Rex in, other than the man’s endlessly impressive intuition. He, on the other hand, can feel the grief and regret that’s had years to simmer into sorrow that hangs on the edge of bitterness.

Ben suspects Sabé is responsible for keeping Cody from that.

Cody is stiff and cautiously still at first as he gets hugged from two directions. By the time he slumps into it and clings back, they’re all crying. Ezra and Luke look even more concerned and disturbed than before.

It seems it is one of those days.

When they’re composed again, and seated in Ben’s house, he doesn’t bother to loosen his grip on Rex’s hand, nor move from where Cody is plastered next to him. Sabé seems to be caught between gentle amusement and joy, _relief_ even.

Kanan is the one to break the silence. “So why _are_ we here? I mean, I’m glad for you all and your reunion, but if you just wanted Rex here you wouldn’t need us.”

Sabé’s grin is sharp, all teeth and eagerness. “Wizard wants us together. He needs a group of skilled operatives. It seems Palpatine is building something, something _big_ , and we’re going to take it. Use it if it’s useful, destroy it if it’s not.” She makes a face. “Given Palpatine, my credits are riding on destroying it.” The smile reappears, now with even more teeth. “We’re to go to Alderaan. Meet up with the leaders there, see what we can do.”

Luke lights up, realizing this is indeed the moment he’s spent much of his life training for. It also means time with his parents and sister, which he’s always hungry for.

Rex squeezes his hand, and Ben returns Sabé’s smile. “Then I think it’s time for a little reunion.”

The feeling of fierce joy fills Ben’s little home, and for the first time in a very long while, he feels whole.


End file.
